


Shutterbug

by DerRumtreiber



Series: TFLN Shorties [2]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Identity Reveal, Age Difference, Exhibitionism, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Peter ain't havin that tho, Phone Sex, Sex Tape, Sexting, Size Kink, Texting, Wade actually remembers phone numbers, Wade really wants to be a sugar daddy, neither of them have very much chill, peter is in grad school, peter parker's size kink, uh... hot doggin' I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28441590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DerRumtreiber/pseuds/DerRumtreiber
Summary: "Oh my God. I told you my name. I toldyoumyname. Oh God."It's lucky the alley by the coffee shop is empty, because Peter is about to hyperventilate."Well yeah, technically you did, sure. But you really think I found your address and real phone number and didn't manage to catch your name, too?"Oh yeah, there's the panic attack.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Wade accidentally reveals that he knows more about Peter than he's let on, and decides tit for tat will make them even.Once Peter catches on, he makes sure he gets what he's properly owed (in his own awkward way).
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: TFLN Shorties [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083431
Comments: 66
Kudos: 641





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **text from last night** :  
>  _I shit you not- my flight is delayed because they have to change a fucking light bulb. All the airport bars are closed and my shit is in checked luggage_
> 
> ~~~~~~~
> 
> I saved a bunch of these to come back to for when I wanted something quick to write. This one's a two parter, but part two (a.k.a. the smut part) is planned to be up tomorrow night so I can say I sent 2020 out with a bang. Tags might change a bit depending on how it goes.

"Peter Parker speaking," it's an unknown number, but he's been waiting all day for an angry call from his advisor, and Peter wouldn't put it past the man to call from a different phone just to fuck with him.

"I shit you _not_ , honey - my flight is delayed because they have to change a fucking light bulb. All the airport bars are closed and my shit is in checked _luggage_."

That definitely doesn't sound like his advisor.

"What? I'm sorry but, who exactly is this? I think you might have a wrong number," Peter pulls the phone away just long enough to look at the screen again.

"Really? REALLY?! Here I am, in the apocalypse wasteland that is a shut down airport in Detroit, baring my heart, nay my soul, and you're gonna _new number, who dis?_ me?" Oh no, Peter knows that voice. "Baby, have our long moonlight strolls meant nothing to you?"

"Deadpool," Peter grits out, surreptitiously glancing around to make sure no one is paying any attention; God bless overworked New Yorkers and their lack of fucks to give. "How did you get this number?"

"You gave it to me? Feeling ok, honey buns?" Deadpool actually sounds a little worried. "Hit your head on a lamp post again?"

"Once!" Peter snaps, and four different people glance over.

" _Once_ ," he hisses again, as soon as he's regained his composure enough to lower his voice. "And that is irrelevant because _you_ threw me at the lamppost, and also because I _never_ gave you this number!"

"Uh, yeah, you did. We text like, all the time. Or, I text you all the time. But you haven't blocked me yet, which is as good as a response, basically. I know you're a busy little bee - well, not a bee, busy little spi-"

"NOPE! Nope- _nope_ , ixnay, abort, do NOT say what you're about to say on this phone! Deadpool, I swear to God I don't know how you got this number, but _this_ number is _not_ the number you always text me on."

People are definitely giving him funny looks now. To think, when he woke up this morning he thought his biggest worry was going to be cramming a week of analysis and thesis research into ten hours.

"Oh," Deadpool says, and then, after a pause: " _Ooooh_ , yeah. So, that's my bad, baby. See, I took this job over the border - Canadian, of course, figured it would be nice to hang out in the land of civilized society and socialized healthcare for a while ( _right?! Fat lot of good that did us back in the day. I_ know _\- I don't need it anymore, that's not the point_ ) but the ol' teleporter done gone and broke on us again on the trip up. Left half my God damned arm _and_ my current burner in New York.

"Tried to call the X-fucks for a pick up or something, but Mr. Friendly Fuzzy Face fuckin' hung up on me, and there's only so many numbers I can remember off the top of my head, which of course includes thine own sexy self, though it seems I _may_ have mis-remembered which number was which."

Peter's glad he's so good at multi-tasking. It means he can listen to Deadpool ramble while simultaneously freaking out and continuing to analyze the correlation between bioluminescence and regeneration in the genetically-altered minnow cells he's been messing with. The going is a little slower, sure, but Deadpool is basically white noise at this point, even when he's threatening the reality of Peter's secret existence.

And then he remembers what he found on his rooftop this morning, and all thoughts of his PhD fly out the grimey cafe window.

"Hold up, hold up, _hold UP_ ," Peter demands, interrupting a tangent about- shoe laces? Oh, Deadpool is listing his top ten assassinations again. "Were those _your_ fingers I found on my- uh, that completely random building's roof this morning?!"

The other end of the line is silent for long enough that Peter starts to squirm in his seat. A quiet Deadpool is rarely a good thing - the relief of silence is almost never worth the fallout.

"Just the fingers, huh? Wonder where the rest ended up…" Deadpool mutters, presumably to himself, before falling quiet once more.

The unfortunate side effect of Deadpool's momentary silence is it gives Peter's brain time to get fully back on track, and the complete horror of the situation truly dawns on him.

"Shit," he mumbles, and then again, louder, as he fumbles to pack up his notebooks and laptop one-handed while holding the phone. "Shit, shit, shit, shit!"

The freak out tsunami is coming, and he is not going to let that happen in a Starbucks, of all places.

"What?" Deadpool finally sounds serious. "What's the matter, Sp- _Petey_?"

"Don't call me that, either," Peter hisses, pushing his way through the group of people milling around, waiting for drinks, and out through the door.

"But that's your name? And you don't want me to say the other thing."

"Oh my God. I told you my name. I told _you_ my _name_. Oh God."

It's lucky the alley by the coffee shop is empty, because Peter is about to hyperventilate.

"Well yeah, technically you did, sure. But you really think I found your address and real phone number and didn't manage to get your name, too? ( _What do you mean that was the wrong thing to say - you ALWAYS say the wro- no, I do not. You do. NO. YOU._ )"

Oh yeah, there's the panic attack. He tries to yell, but it comes out a strangled squeak. His chest heaves.

"Baby, baby, honey bunches of Annie Oakley, you gotta calm down for me, ok?" Deadpool tries to soothe, immediately breaking from his kindergarten disagreement with the boxes in his head; it's not very effective.

"You swore you wouldn't do this to me, Deadpool," Peter manages to wheeze out.

"I didn't lie! I promise! I solemnly swear I haven't looked into you at all since we started teaming up."

For all the chaos Deadpool creates, and for all his loose morals, he doesn't really lie. Whether it's personal ethics or he just can't be bothered, Peter's never figured out.

"Then how?" Peter asks, dropping his ass to the dirty alley ground and putting his head between his legs.

He thinks that's what you're supposed to do when you're dizzy. It's what the attendant at Disney World had told him that one time when he was ten and couldn't handle the tea cups.

"Mercenary, sweet pea. You didn't think I looked you up before I dropped in on you that first time? You're my fave super- uh, favorite. You're my super fave favorite. Let's go with that."

"A lie of omission is still a lie, Wade."

"Mm, wish I could say agree to disagree, except I do actually agree. I'll be honest witcha here, Pete. It was a shitty thing to not tell you, and even I know better. But I just wanted to hang out with you so bad! I swear I've never seen your face, and I haven't told a soul nothin' 'bout you. _Well_ , except for the boxes, I guess, but they were with me the whole time, and you keep sayin' they're not real, anyways, so I don't feel like that should count?"

Peter tilts his head back against the brick wall and heaves in a deep breath, his chest loosening just enough to let him fill his lungs.

"Listen, Deadpool. I have to submit a draft by midnight and if we keep talking, I'll keep freaking out and it'll never get done. We'll - ugh, let's just talk later, ok? And if there's _anything_ else you've conveniently forgotten to mention, now would be a good time to start remembering."

"So you can absolve me of all my sins in one fell swoop?" Deadpool asks hopefully.

"So I have all the evidence while I'm deciding how much I trust you and how to deal with this."

Peter ends the call without waiting for a response. He's low enough on time as it is. Usually, he's excellent at compartmentalizing, but as he trudges home, not even a quarter of his work done, he knows he should have prepared better for this inevitable day. It had just never occurred to him that _Deadpool_ of all people would be holding the key to his continued secret. Peter had actually considered them friends.

At least Deadpool had sounded properly contrite.

At 11:58 Peter shoots off his draft results to his advisor. He's sure it's riddled with errors, but it's hard to care when for all he knows tomorrow his big secret will be in the news and he'll have to go into hiding. Should he call the Avengers and give them a heads up?

No. No, he steels himself. Spider-man doesn't run from his problems, and neither will Peter Parker. He pulls up his recent calls list and hits dial.

"Holy shnikeys, Petey-Pie. _You_ called _me_! After I've been sitting here all day-"

"Shut up, Deadpool, and let me talk this time. Are you still in public?" Peter snaps, feeling the rush as his confidence overtakes his fear.

"Well, no. Of course not. Got me a swanky hotel room across the way. Paid with a legit credit card and everything ( _shush, he doesn't need to know that part)_. And you can't ask someone a question and tell them to shut up. That's just setting them up for failure."

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Right. Now."

Deadpool clears his throat, and Peter hears the sound of a zipper through the phone.

"What the- was that your suit? Did you just _unzip your suit_?"

"Don't be a Silly Susan, Suzie! I told you already, all my stuff's in my checked luggage, can't be wandering through customs wearing my Murderin' Duds. That was actually my fly, but you said I can't talk ( _oops, we done did bad again, but it's sooo hard - heh_ ) and you can't see me pretend zippin' my lips, so I improvised."

Peter should have seen this coming. Deadpool could derail a freight train with his powers of conversation.

"You unzipped your pants to mime- ok, no. Nevermind. Off-topic. I called to _yell_ at you, for fuck's sake," there - derail avoided. Sort of.

"Ok, yeah, sure. That works. Go ahead and yell to your heart's content, baby. I mean, buddy. Comrade. Uh, co-worker?"

There Deadpool goes again, sounding all sad and contrite. Even as he tries to hold on to it, the anger is bleeding from Peter, along with most of his frustration. The annoyance remains, but it's not much of a consolation prize, since it's basically the same sort of fond-type annoyance he feels most times they interact.

The fact that he feels any fondness at all just makes him angry at himself more than Deadpool. It's like leaving a puppy home alone too long and coming home to a puddle on the floor. This is all his own fault for ever getting buddy-buddy with a certifiably insane ninja-assassin-toddler-man.

"Urgh, I don't even feel like yelling anymore," Peter admits, albeit begrudgingly. "At least tell me you zipped your pants back up."

"But that would be a lie and I feel like lying right now might make things worse?"

Peter's about to hang up again in frustration before he hears another zipping sound and forces himself to calm down. Deadpool is… trying, kind of, and that's more than most people usually get out of the Merc.

"Listen, baby boy," Deadpool says in that same soothing tone from earlier. "I'm really, really, really truly times infinity double dog sorry. I'll make it up to you somehow, I swear. Just please don't like, ghost me, or tattle to Captain Morality or - Actually, you know what? If telling the A-Holes would fix things, go right ahead. Let Daddy Iron Dick blast me to smithereens a couple times. Maybe that'd make you feel a little better?"

Peter is ashamed that he actually considers it for a moment. But he's not going to let the Avengers clean up his mess, and, as mad as he is at Deadpool, he still doesn't want to see anyone in pain, much less a friend. Former friend? No, that feels wrong, too. Ugh.

"No, that's- I mean it's not fine. But I'll probably get over it. You've known for years and you haven't done anything with the info," Peter sighs, and it turns into a monster yawn; he can't help the tiny smile when Deadpool hears it and yawns right back. "I didn't realize you ever went anywhere without the suit."

" _That's_ what you took away from all this? Yeah, Pete, sometimes even I gotta blend in at least a little, and you ever fly in full leather? Worst feeling in the world, and you should trust me on that cuz I fell into a vat of acid once ( _Ok,_ fine, _JUMPED into a vat of acid. But NO, just because it was on purpose doesn't mean I_ enjoyed _it - nuh uh, not even we're_ that _crazy, damn_ )."

Peter yawns again- _fuck, adrenaline crash_. "Ew, please stop there. And it's just hard to picture is all, sorry."

"Don't sweat it, sweetums. Get some sleep, and if you wanna rip me a new one next time you see me I promise I'll sit there and take it like a good boy."

When Peter wakes up the next morning, he has one unopened text. It's a photo, and he nearly drops his phone in surprise when he taps it to full screen.

It's Deadpool, from about mid-chest down, wearing a tank top emblazened with the Deadpool logo across the front, and a pair of acid-washed jeans. His socks don't match, and the hand not holding the phone is resting on his stomach, flashing Peter a scarred peace sign.

He feels a little guilty when he zooms in on Deadpool's bare arm. It's likely a peace offering - Deadpool almost never flashes any skin, and definitely never in full light - but even if it hadn't been, Peter knows his curiosity would have gotten the better of him.

_Nice, good job being a big stinkin' hypocrite, Parker._

It's not pretty, is where his decision lands once he's had his fill of looking. Deadpool's skin is a topographical map of just how terrible humans can be to one another. Rivers and tributaries and little branching streams of ropey silvered-pink, unevenly knurled. Craterous pock-marks around Deadpool's bulging knuckles give way to broad fingers, cracked and peeling. There's a half-open sore next to his elbow that looks painful and shiny with Peter doesn't want to imagine what.

So yeah, definitely not pretty, but no worse than Peter had ever imagined. Deadpool's fond of bragging about how many people he's made hurl at the sight, but Peter's stomach isn't turning. Maybe he's desensitized. He's been slapped in the face (literally) by far grosser and has always shook it off without much thought.

He's been staring at Deadpool's arm for at least a full minute when it dawns on him why else this was a terrible idea. He zooms back out quickly, but it's too late. The thought has been had and cannot be un-thunk.

As soon as the shock had worn off, his mind had immediately leapt… elsewhere. Somewhere bad, where thoughts of _Deadpool_ of all people should never be allowed to go. Because when you take away the leather and stop focusing on the scars, Deadpool is just as much a man as Peter himself. A man with a terrible sense of humor, who flirts constantly, seems to actually care about Peter's well-being, and who, like a giant, proud feline, thought highly enough of Peter to roll over and show his belly.

“I will _not_ think about giving _tummy rubs_ to Deadpool,” he commands himself, then immediately feels like an idiot.

_**PP:** That’s what you call incognito?_

Not the most eloquent text Peter’s ever sent, but in his defense he just woke up, and he has to send some sort of a response, right? He knows he shouldn’t be encouraging this, but Peter’s never had much willpower when it comes to Deadpool. Even if Peter does feel like he’s owed a whole lot more than a g-rated hotel selfie.

But… _but_. If Deadpool already knows Peter’s name, and he’s as big of a Spidey fan as he claims, then he surely knows about Peter’s side job, as well. Which means he’s at least trusting Peter to not sell him out for a slightly better than usual payday.

His phone buzzes in response ten minutes later.

_**DP:** ur bein silly again ofc i didnt wer my own merch thru airport_  
_**DP:** I wor sum1 elses over it_

“Grk,” Peter says, intelligently, when another photo comes through.

It’s a mirror selfie this time, complete with a rumpled bed half-covered with empty takeout containers behind Deadpool’s hulking form. It’s captioned with _‘T-minus 3hrs 2 take off!’ _, and he’s wearing, to Peter’s complete lack of surprise, a Spider-Man hoodie.__

What _is_ surprising is just how much he likes seeing his own logo - the _Spider-Man_ logo, how the hell? Spider-Man doesn’t even _have_ his own merch - stretched across that broad, broad chest.

The curtains are drawn and the lights are low, so with the hood fully up Deadpool’s face is cast in too dark a shadow for Peter to make out. He might be able to mess with the brightness some and get a better idea, but that’s not a line he’s willing to cross without permission. It doesn’t escape his attention, though, that he’s now been given two peace offerings, neither of which are quite as superficial as they seem at first glance.

There are times that Peter honestly wonders how someone as ditzy as Deadpool can tie his own bootlaces and make it out the front door. And then there are times like these, where Peter is left with the uncomfortable knowledge that yes, Deadpool is able to think things through - and when he bothers to do it, take note, because he _will_ be two steps ahead of even the resident genius at all times.

Best to play it cool, though.

_**PP:** Did you steal that from a child?  
**PP:** You’re going to split the seams._

_**DP:** Lets not throw stones frm spandex houses bb  
**DP:** And also: How dare u sir this is cuzzztom 1 of a kind DP orig  
**DP:** dont tell ne1 tho dont wanna get in trubz w copyrite police _

Of _course_ Deadpool makes his own fan merch. If ( _when_ ) Peter ever forgives him, he needs to see if Deadpool wants to collab or something. They’re veering too close to identity talk, though, so Peter should probably concentrate on the present and ending this conversation before Deadpool is on the hook for another apology.

He’ll let himself indulge for just a minute more, though. Deadpool deserves something as a reward.

_**PP:** Watch your language  
**PP:** But fwiw, I know the guy who owns the copyright,  
_ _and I don’t think he’ll mind_

Deadpool doesn’t respond after that, so Peter assumes he caught the hint, and Peter doesn’t have anything else to add, even if it’s kind of nice to actually text with Deadpool for once instead of just letting his unread messages pile up for days at a time.

Right before he closes their conversation for real, his thumb hovers above the recent picture, then he saves it to his phone. He trusts himself not to mess with the image settings to assuage his curiosity, and it’s not like Deadpool had said Peter _couldn’t_ keep the picture.

Maybe he’s really just as bad as Deadpool, in some ways.

Deadpool, for his part, says no more on the topic of apologies or secret identities. He makes it back from his Canada trip in one piece (which is, it would seem, significantly fewer pieces than he had arrived up north in). He doesn’t mention the pictures, and Peter doesn’t want to admit he saved them, so he doesn’t mention them, either. They go back to communicating through Peter’s Spidey burner, and that’s that.

Until it isn’t. Because Deadpool’s whims are anything but flighty, and he secretly has more patience than Bruce Banner on a meditation retreat. Peter hasn’t outright said he forgives him yet, and Deadpool never lets go of a target.

It’s been long enough since Deadpool sent his last message to Peter’s regular phone that when Peter gets the text the old pictures have been automatically deleted from the chat. Deadpool is ostensibly away again. He assures Peter he took a jet this time when he sends a picture of a lamp, a non-North American wall outlet, and a candy wrapper in an alphabet Peter doesn’t recognize.

He has to squint at the photo for at least 30 seconds before he spots Deadpool in the shot. Or who he assumes (hopes) is Deadpool. A quarter of a wall-mounted mirror is in the top right, framing a single beefy, leather-clad shoulder.

_**DP:**_ _reel talk petey i fukin h8 hotels_

_**PP:** why are you texting this number again_

_**DP:** cuz I’m bored and u never rspnd other #  
_ _**DP:** and mayb i want 2 talk 2 Peter_

_**PP:** Uh, you are?_

_**DP:** duh. thats my point cutie_

It’s embarrassing how hard Peter blushes when it sinks in what Deadpool means. He doesn’t want to talk to Spider-Man; he wants to talk to _Peter Parker_.

Which implies the corollary: Peter isn’t chatting with Deadpool. He’s chatting with Wade, and he doesn’t know what that means, much less what he _wants_ it to mean. All he knows is with Wade presumably thousands of miles away it feels dangerously easy to keep responding just like he's any other of Peter’s normal friends, instead of the liability that clings to his calves when he’s trying to do his job.

_**PP:** take off your shoes and make fists  
with your toes in the carpet _

_**DP:** gasp baby ure 2 young 4 that movie  
**DP:** im impressed _

_**PP:** it’s a classic  
**PP:** like casablanca _

_**DP:** ouch not quite that classic :(_

He sends Peter a picture of his feet squishing into the carpet, his red socks bunching up around his toes.

_**PP:** bare toes dummy_

_**DP:** no way its like 5deg in here_

_**PP:** please tell me you mean _ _Celsius_

Peter snaps a quick shot to send back - his Iron Man slippers peeking out from below an Incredible Hulk printed fuzzy blanket.

_**DP:** duh i mean C  
**DP:** omg u NERD  
**DP:** isn’t it weird to wear ur dad on ur feet? is that a kink?  
**DP:** Pete?  
**DP:** Peteey  
**DP:** baby boyyy  
**DP:** pete pete pete pete no dont do this 2 me AGAIN  
**DP:** u cant double ignore sum1 that is super bad manners  
**DP:** sorry about the daddy comment  
**DP:** if thats it  
_

_**PP:** Im not ignoring you  
**PP:** I’m studying _

_**DP:** OOPS SORRY BABY  
**DP:** study hard little smarty panties  
_

The apology picture Peter receives is a life-sized sharpie doodle of Deadpool’s mask on a sheet of paper, held in front of Wade’s face. The top of his head peeks above the edge of the paper, and he’s clearly still wearing the actual mask. Peter assumes Wade just didn’t want to sharpie a frown on the real thing.

Peter rolls his eyes. Then he rolls his eyes again so he can take a picture of it and sends it in response.

_**PP:** goodnight, Wade _

_**DP:** _:star eye emoji: :star eye emoji: :star eye emoji:

After that, Wade seems to take Peter’s attention as permission, and every time he leaves for more than a few days Peter gets at least one new picture, if not always conversation to go with it. It doesn’t take long at all before they land themselves in what seems like a giant game of photo chicken.

It’s both the most entertaining game Peter has played in a long time, and driving him absolutely bonkers. Because they never text on Peter’s real phone when Wade is in town, and they _never talk about it in person_. Never. It gives a previously undiscovered, dark, secret little part of Peter’s mind an odd thrill.

It’s not _just_ obscured photos of himself that Wade sends, either, and another part of Peter likes those just as much. He gets a strangely thrilling peek into the life of Deadpool outside New York city.

( _One particularly memorable picture is of a crumbly yellow temple in a rainforest, just as the sun is rising, after what Wade swears was a straight up Indiana Jones mission._

**DP:** Swear on Colonel Sander’s Stately Moustache, i just stole the holy grail

**PP:** excuse me? 

**DP:** it belonged in a museum, pete!

**PP:** ...and I’m sure that’s where   
it ended up, right? 

**DP:** HELL NO, aint no museum got DP kinda $$ lmao  
**DP:** plus it was legit cursed  
**DP:** shriveled my hand up like a bony nut sack when I touched :(

**PP:** 1) ew   
**PP:** 2) then that wasnt the holy grail   
**PP:** 3) ew 

**DP:** 1)ur no fun  
**DP:** 2) oops g2g need to call client

_Peter takes it as a joke, mostly because he really, really hopes Wade is joking. He’s pretty sure Wade’s not._ )

As any form of prolonged contact with Wade Wilson is wont to do, things inevitably take a turn for the even weirder. No line is ever left uncrossed when Deadpool is involved. The _really_ weird part, though, is that it’s Peter who finally ups the ante and crosses _the_ line.

The inevitable line, and one of the core tenets of Peter's generation.

**_Any and all games of photo chicken will, at some point, lead to dick pics._ **

Ok, so it’s not _exactly_ his dick that he sends, but on the Peter Parker’s Scale of Prudishness, it’s about as close as he’s ever gotten. He hits send, and almost has a stroke when his brain catches up to what he actually just did. The record scratches.

He hits the mental rewind button to re-evaluate the last ten minutes of his life and try and pin-point just where everything had gone wrong:

It’s been a long, long, _painfully _l__ ong week, and Peter’s so tired his eyeballs hurt, but he’s been so keyed up from stress lately he thinks he’s forgotten how to sleep. Deadpool’s been gone for just over two weeks on a job, which means that just enough time has passed that _Deadpool_ and _Wade_ are starting to separate in Peter’s mind again. He’s reaching dangerous levels of complacency and comfort.

Wade’s been incommunicado for the last two days, and when he finally finds something to text Peter a picture of, he’s not even in the shot (Peter is 100% sure - he’s become a master at the

'Where’s ~~Waldo~~ Wade?' game). It’s just a steamed up, clinically white, tiled bathroom. Peter himself has just finished his own scrub-down, and he falls back onto his bed in his towel, too lazy to dig for his pj pants.

_**DP:** 1st shower in 1.5wks  
**DP:** unnghh felt so gud_

_**PP:** I bet  
**PP:** We're wearing matching _ _costumes again_

And then, because Peter’s brain has officially stopped functioning, he follows his text up with a picture of his own. He holds his phone at his collar bone and aims the camera down, flashing a peace sign just like that very first picture Wade had sent him.

Once his brain has run through what he’s just done three more times, he takes another look at the picture he sent. Peter cringes. Yeah, that towel is _not_ leaving much to the imagination.

His phone informs him [... _ **DP** is typing...]_ .Then he is no longer typing. Then he is again. Whatever he’s typing, he doesn’t send.

_**[incoming call: DP]** _

Peter has absolutely no idea what to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete gets a new phone, dirty pics are taken, and the boxes enjoy some popcorn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I lied at the end of last chapter, but I was lying to myself, too. This is almost a week late, and apparently it wants to be a three-shot. I'm so very sorry. We start to earn that E-rating near the end, though, promise.
> 
> Here's a bonus fake text from chapter 1 as penance:  
> 
> 
> **> Yellow**
> 
> __  
> > >White  
> 
> 
> ~~~~~~~~

His call goes to voicemail - that little _shit._ Not straight to voicemail, either, and Wade can practically taste the panic his sweet little webslinger is choking on from here. He could take pity and ignore what he's been sent. Spidey's obviously having some second thoughts. But he's the one who upped the ante - Wade's just calling his bluff. Literally.

**> Unless it wasn't a bluff.**

_> >Oh, it was a bluff. You think anyone's hoping for an x-rated towel pic from an old trash bag filled with the remnants of a tire fire?_

**> Yeah, good point. Call him again and chew him out for being a tease!**

"Nope! No one's chewing out our sweetie for nothing today. Or any day that the DP's on duty. Not even the DP."

_> >Yuck. Third person. We hate third person._

**> Bet Spidey does, too.**

"Oh for the love of…"

He’s giving this one last shot, because yes, he is that pathetic. But that’s it! One more call, and then Petey can be the one to play aggressor.

**> HAHAhaha. Oh yeah, that’ll teach him.**

“Would you just _shut up_ already?!”

“Uh, you’re the one that called me?” says a tinny, sweet little voice in Wade’s ear; _that’s_ sure as hell not one of the boxes.

“Ohmygosh, Pete’nPete! Wait! I wasn’t talking to you, pinky swearsies. I would _never_ talk to you like that.”

_Nice going, you nosy, noisy fucks. Now he thinks we hate him!_

_> >If only he were that lucky. _

**> Word.**

“...boxes, again?” Peter’s asking, and Wade gives his head a good, hard shake; how long had he zoned out there?

“You know it, babes. Ignore them, and ignore that rude start to a phone call, please and thanks, because we have waaaaay more important things to speak of, _mi amor_.”

He thinks he hears Peter choke a little. “Uh, do we? We don’t have to. We can ignore that, too. I think we should probably ignore that.”

“Ignore what, exactly, turtle dove?” Wade asks sweetly. “Because if you’re talking about that work of art you just sent, no can do. Oughta send that one into the Met, Petey, get yourself that Pulitzer I know you’ve been eyein’.”

“Ok, that’s not how any of that works. And even if it was, no. Definitely not.”

There’s Wade’s Spidey. _We knew he was hiding in there somewhere._

“Got it. Personal spank bank only. Don’t worry, I’ve got my own special award for that shot.”

_> >Too much, dumbass. _

**> Way, way too much.**

_> >You don’t even need us to ruin this for you.  _

**> Brb making popcorn.**

“ _Sounds like five minutes of peace to me,_ ” Wade mutters under his breath, and then, when he realizes Peter hasn’t responded: “Uh, yeah - ok, maybe you’re right, Pete. Do over? Pretend the last twenty minutes never happened? I’ll delete that picture. If anyone understands poor impulse control, it’s yours truly.”

Peter is silent for another moment, and Wade is ready to hang up and hang his head, maybe consider the past few months a strange, delightful fever dream. Then Peter sighs, frustrated ( _s_ _till the sigh of an angel~_ ).

“No, don’t,” Peter says, finally, sounding so very unsure; Wade hates himself a little for how much he kind of loves it. “Don’t delete it. I mean, you don’t have to? If you don’t want to.”

“Sweetheart, as becoming as the fake modesty is on you, we both know the answer to that one.”

Score - permission to keep the pic. Not that there was _ever_ a chance of it actually being deleted, even if he hates lying to Petey. He’ll do just about anything for his baby boy, but deleting a work of art like the one that is definitely not already his lock screen? That would just be criminal.

**> What, finally turning over a new leaf?**

If anything could do it, it’d be those lives-savin’ thighs, that’s for sure. And hey, what happened to his five minutes of popcorn break peace, anyways? Imaginary popcorn sure pops fast.

Thus far, their little game has mostly been Wade sending pictures and Peter sending snarky responses. Until tonight, the only time Peter has responded with a picture of his own has been that sweet little eye-roll. _That one_ had been deleted, immediately. He’s not even sure Spidey realizes he gave that particular gift, and Wade’s not selfless enough to point out the slip-up. He is, however, perhaps even more protective of his baby’s secret identity than said baby boy, and The Cloud is no place for that innocent mug.

There’s no face in this one, though. Wade would have it blown up to poster sized to pin above his bed, except Spidey babe’s phone seems to have been manufactured in the 20th century and has never met the word MegaPixel. 

Wade really needs to fix that.

Back in the real world, Peter chuckles in Wade’s ear. It’s the ‘ _aww shucks'_ chuckle - the one that puts Captain Tighty-Whitey’s to shame. He wishes he had a picture to go with _that,_ because he’d bet his D-Eagle it’s got a full body blush to go with it. Wouldn’t even need Petey’s face.

“Hah, I suppose,” Peter admits begrudgingly. “I’m about to pass out here, bud. Was there uh, anything else you needed?”

**> Loaded question.**

_> >Too pure for his own good. _

**> Too pure for this freak’s good, that’s for sure.**

Wade ignores the boxes and takes pity on Pete - baby steps. “ _Bud_ , sheesh, gross. Nah, Petey. Get some sleep. That was more than enough to make this dirty old man’s night.”

“You’re not that old, Wade,” Peter argues around a jaw cracking yawn

_> >Too adorable for this world. _

**> Ain’t he though?**

_Oh, look, we’re all in agreement for once. Is the apocalypse nigh already?_

“You got no idea how old I am, pipsqueak. For all you know I’m turning 67 next monday.”

“Not 69?” Petey snipes and just _bless his stars and garters._

“Oo, baby got jokes! Go to sleep, wunderkind. Daddy says it’s past your bedtime.”

“ _Wade_ , no,” Peter groans. “Whatever. Night, gramps.”

“Sweet dreams, precious,” Wade coos, and hangs up before he gets himself in even more trouble.

He takes a glance around the room - where’d his suit go? He needs his handy-dandy pocket sharpie before he can actually let Petey go to bed.

As much as he’d like to really return the favor Peter has just gifted him with, he doesn’t like the idea of ending this game quite yet, and he’s sure a DP full-frontal (even with a towel) isn’t going to get him what he wants. He’s scared away his fair share of potential one-night stands even with the lights off.

_> >So he’s a one night stand now? _

“ _Fuck no_ , he ain’t. I’d rip the dick off any tool that hit and quit baby. Gotta ease him into it, though.”

 **> Like there’s any way to ease into ** **_that._**

“He’s seen more of me than most and he ain’t run yet,” he grumbles, even as he pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of boxers.

He stands in front of the mirror and takes a deep breath before pulling his shirt up to his armpits. Uncapping the sharpie with his teeth, he draws a big ‘ _37_ ' in bubble-numbers on his stomach, snaps a quick shot, crops out his head ( _remember, ease him in_ ) and sends it off before he can reconsider. 

Wade is very glad he’d gone easy on Pete with the towel pic, because this is _nerve wracking_.

What if Pete doesn’t respond? What if Wade _is_ too old? He’s _definitely_ too ugly, maybe this is the final straw. 

~~~~

~~~~

 **babyboi:** ~~_oh, hey daddy_ ~~

**babyboi: [message deleted by sender]**

**WW:** _I saw that~~~_

 **WW:** _b4 u deleted_

**babyboi:** _oh my god_

 **babyboi:** _I don’t know where that came from_

 **babyboi:** _I’m really tired, my filter is gone_

“Easing him in,” Wade reminds himself, as the grin on his face grows and grows. His cheeks are actually starting to hurt.

**WW:** _Consider it unseen, sweet cheeks :*_

**babyboi:** _I find that hard to believe…_

 **babyboi:** _but ty_

The first thing Wade does when he gets back to the city after dropping off his gear is head to the store to buy Peter a little present. He leaves it on Pete’s rooftop, next to Pete’s favorite take off spot. Then hides in the shadows to make sure the package makes it to its intended recipient - they do live in a crime filled city, after all.

**> Not like you had anything better to do for three hours.**

_> >Have you considered a real hobby? Perhaps something a little less stalker-ish?_

**> Golf? Fly fishing?**

“Boring. And _hush_ , he’ll hear us!” Wade hisses; luckily, Spidey seems preoccupied.

 **> He’s not gonna hear ** **_us,_** **big guy.**

_> >Yeah, he’s gonna hear _you.

Petey picks up his gift without incident, and Wade pretends he doesn’t see him check for explosives. Who gift wraps a _bomb_? In Avengers birthday paper, no less.

_> >Uh, you would. If you were giving someone a bomb.  _

**> Which, again, you would.**

_Yeah, fair._ His Spidey’s a smart little tyke - better safe than sorry. But really, if Wade was going to give Spidey a bomb, it wouldn’t already be set to go off. He’d let Spidey have that fun. It’s always good to have some unexploded ordnance handy.

He’s not quite creepy enough to follow Peter after Wade’s sure his present has been received. He even waits for Petey to text him first. Which, he does. But not from his new phone, from his dumb old burner phone.

**Spides:** _Guess you’re back. Patrol tonight?_

**WW:** _u bet bb_

 **WW:** _Same bat time, same bat channel?_

**Spides:** _I assume you mean usual spot, usual time_

 **Spides:** _So yea, sounds good_

See? His baby gets him. 

“We’re made for each other,” Wade sighs, lovingly.

 **> Spider-man is made from unicorn farts and baby kitten clouds. You are made from a pile of spare bolts that fell off a broken bumper car. You weren’t even made in the same ** **_factory._**

“What the fuck is a baby kitten cloud?” he grouses, but it’s not worth arguing - the boxes are mean, but frequently correct.

Still. Wade’s momma didn’t raise no quitter.

They meet up. They patrol. They eat tacos and finish each other’s jokes, and through it all Spider-man doesn’t say a got damnt thing about the phone. Or the pictures. Wade would be feeling a little put out - it’s not like he expected his baby to _actually_ put out for a shiny present, but a thank you doesn’t seem like too much to ask. Pete’s usually Mister Manners, even around Wade.

Normally he wouldn’t mind Petey taking a page out of Wade’s own book, but A) Wade actually likes to think his manners are pretty decent, considering his day job, and 2) he could really use some validation right about now. He’s pretty good about brushing off the boxes’ miserable commentary on his pathetic existence, but even Wade Winston Wilson has a limit to his self-confidence.

Peter, of course, does in fact have more manners than Wade. He was just waiting until they were done with work to play. Such a role model. The first acknowledgement of Wade’s generosity comes about half an hour after he gets home from street sweeping with his spiderling, just as he's changing into something a little more comfy.

**babyboi:** _would you return this if I refused to accept it?_

**WW:** _lol no_

 **WW:** _ill rewrap it and hide it somewer else_

 **WW:** 4 _u 2 find again tho_

**babyboi:** _it was worth a shot_

 **babyboi:** _thank you. It's a very nice phone_

 **babyboi:** _one sec gotta switch out sim_

The first picture that comes through ten minutes later is of truly high quality, and not just the number of pixels. Composition, lighting, color - it’s got it all. It’s also mind numbingly boring, and while it technically is a picture of his Petey, it’s not exactly the revealing angle Wade had not-so-secretly been hoping for. The frayed cuffs of Peter’s jeans lay wet against the laces of his ratty, green skate shoes. He must have changed in an alley before heading home.

~~~~

~~~~

**WW:** _that a hint Petey_

 **WW:** _baby need a new pair of kicks?_

**babyboi:** _no just playing around_

 **babyboi:** _I thought it was a pretty great shot_

**WW:** _o sure v nice_

 **WW:** _angle needs work tho_

 **WW:** _mayb aim a lil higher_

**babyboi:** :eye-roll: _everyone’s a critic_

Wade is fully expecting the next shot - a flash of pale knee is visible through the threadbare denim. It’s a miracle someone as skinny and ill-covered as Peter makes it through the New York city winters.

**WW:** _10-4 add jeans to sugar babe shoppin list_

**babyboi:** _Wade stop_

 **babyboi:** _Definitely not wearing anything you pick out sorry_

**WW:** _dunno wut else u expected?_

 **WW:** _cant tell if cry 4 help or victorian strip tease_

**babyboi:** _uh neither?_

**babyboi: [image attached]**

Wade taps the photo to blow it up to full size, and... wowzah. Peter’s laying back on his bed, now, and he’s pulled the phone up a little higher so Wade can just see the top of Pete’s pants - _his unbuttoned, unzipped pants_ \- and a hint of the tight little undies underneath. 

**WW:** _holy shit pete_

 **WW:** :mind blown:

**babyboi:** _too much?_

**WW:** _NO_

 **WW:** _never 2 much_

 **WW:** _u no wat im gonna do w that tho rite_

**babyboi:** _you can’t even really see anything_

**WW:** _dont need 2, hav great imagnation_

 **WW:** _feel free 2 send mor tho_

**babyboi: [image attached]**

**WW:** _holy shit_

 **WW:** _im calling u & u better answer _

**WW:** _bc i no wer u live_

 **WW:** _u sneaky lil gen z gremlin_

He’d like to think the threat is overkill, but Wade’s in no mood to play that game again. 

**> There’s no way that was ** **_actually_ ** **meant for you, crater face**

_> >Or it was, and it’s everything you ain’t never gonna touch!_

**> Ooooh yeah. Can’t touch this! nah nah nah**

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Wade mutters, then hits call before he can chicken out.

It helps knowing that however freaked out he’s feeling right now, Pete’s definitely freaking out even worse. The kid has no chill over the phone.

_> >Oh the youth._

**> Remember when you were his age? Oh wait, bet you don’t~**

“Yeah, and that’s definitely because I’m too old to remember, and not because of the brain breaking tortu-” he manages to cut himself off _before_ Peter picks up, this time. “Petey! You little hellion, you. I won’t hold it against you if you say oops those were for your girlfriend, honest to badness.”

Peter tries to say something, but it comes out squeaky and garbled - ( _> >Aww _, he_ sounds like a baby flying squirrel!_ **> We** **want up in them squirrel guts, aww yea.** _> >Aww yeah)_ \- before he clears his throat.

“I’m, uh, not trying to text anyone else right now. It’s after midnight, everyone’s asleep,” Pete points out. And then, much to Wade’s _complete and utter delight_ , he continues - very quickly, and in a very small voice. “And I don’t have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. In case that was your next line. You already knew that, though.”

_Be still, my beating heart, holy fuuuuuccckk._

_> >Seriously. Be still, our beating heart._

**> Yeah. Is this what a heart attack feels like?**

_> >Don’t think we’ve had one of those before. Not that we can remember, anyhow_

“Secretly a super hero, Petey? Mind reader, perhaps?” Wade teases, because he’s very much afraid that if he says what he actually wants to say, Pete is gonna run for the hills.

“Har har, very funny,” Peter’s voice cracks on the last word; if he’s going for mocking, he’s about seven miles off.

It pains Wade to point the next part out, but he has to be sure. _Peter_ has to be sure.

“For reals, though, baby, you went about zero to six hundred there. I ain’t Pretty Woman-izing you here, Pete. Don’t owe me nothing,” 

“It wasn’t _payment!_ ” Peter blurts out. “Oh my god, did I read this all wrong?”

“No! Nonono,” Wade rushes to assure him - ( _> >How_ _are they so bad at this?_ **> Mmff** **dnff nuh, bht thff urh.** _> >Oh, hello, more popcorn!_). “Oh hell, no, baby.”

Now that he has permission direct from the source, Wade _has_ to see that pic again. He puts the phone on speaker and pulls the photo back up as he discreetly slides his hand under the waistband of his pants to squeeze his dick with a groan. He’s so revved up ( _and confused, what the heck is going on right now?_ ) he’s not even sure whether it’s to relieve some of the pressure, or to keep himself from going off like a teenager.

And gods above, what a picture it is. It’s not even all that explicit, really. Wade’s seen more in most R-rated movies. But his baby’s a _professional,_ and it’s everything Wade can’t see that’s revving his engine. 

Peter’s shoved his pants down a few inches, and the briefs along with them. His palm is pressing down where the open zipper begins to part, presumably to maintain a modicum of modesty. Which is fairly pointless, since the base of his half-hard dick is still in plain view.

**> Wonder who he’s been man-scaping for.**

_> >Us? _

_Oh please please please Santa. I’ve been a good boy this year! Mostly…._

“Did you just put me on speaker phone?” Peter asks. “You know my hearing is like, really good, right?”

“Already told you what I plan on doing with those pics, baby boy,” Wade teases, trying not to sound too out of breath.

Peter makes an adorable little... little _chirrup_ of disbelief. Fuck, Wade wants to hear all of his adorable little sounds. 

“Right now?” Pete asks, a little breathless himself.

“Yeah, baby. Right now. You don’t like that, you better jump off this bus while we’re still at the station.” 

Wade squeezes his dick again and shimmies until his pants are around his thighs. He slides his fist upwards, slowly, as his eyes stay glued to his phone, the tight ring of his fingers catching the wetness already leaking from the tip. He twists a little before starting in for real at a steady pace.

He stops trying to control his breathing. He knows Peter can hear it all.

“Oh, wow,” Petey whispers. “You’re really - can I see? I mean - oh, damn it. Scratch that, please. I really didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“Uh,” Wade’s pace breaks on a surprised chuckle as he nearly tips over the edge. “Holy shit, Pete, _that sweet whore mouth_ , god damn. You don’t wanna see this. You know I’m not pretty like you, baby.” 

“I don’t care. I don’t care about - _please_ , Wade?” Pete whines.

“If I share with the class, you gonna share, too, Petey?” 

Peter whines again. It should sound childish and petulant, but it’s _Spidey,_ and he’s listening to _Wade_ jerk it like a horny high schooler.

“Ok. Shh, it's ok, baby. I told you I didn’t expect anything,” Wade soothes. “You really wanna see?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Pete breathes, and Wade, who has never been able to deny Webs anything before, certainly isn’t about to start denying him now.

“Alright, Pete. Hold that thought for just a second, sweetie.” 

Wade’s stroking faster now, and he feels the orgasm building, curling the edges of his vision. He swipes over to his camera, Pete panting over the speaker, and before he can over think it he swaps from still image to record. He hits the little red circle, and gets about ten solid seconds of video before he’s spilling over his fist, his stomach, the hem of his shirt.

He knows as soon as he comes down from his orgasm high he is going to regret the decision, but Peter had asked, and so he shall receive.

  
 **WW:** **[attachment: vid_01.mp4]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol this just keeps getting trope-ier and trope-ier.
> 
> I make no promises this time re: update schedule other than soon, but there's something longer I want to start on so I really do want to just wrap this dumb thing up ASAP~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheeeeew, thought this was never gonna get finished for a bit there. Work got crazy so this was written in a bunch of 200ish word snips. I'll go back through later tonight and reread for editing/ consistency, but here it is in all it's partially edited glory because I wanted it to be done, haha.
> 
> I almost broke this into two chapters, but it didn't feel like there was a great break point halfway through....
> 
> Anyways, I really hope it turned out alright and not completely disjointed!
> 
> (Sorry if anyone subbed saw this twice, posting was being odd)

_~Peter~_

Peter finally puts his own phone on speaker when he hears the ding of an incoming message, and Wade’s poorly contained panting fills the tiny studio apartment. 

**Wade:** **[attachment: vid_01.mp4]**

Peter tries to wet his dry lips, but his mouth feels filled with cotton, tongue thick and numb in his parched mouth. He tries to swallow on instinct, and his throat squeezes awkwardly around nothing. 

It takes an uncomfortably long pause between them before Peter realizes Wade may be just as unsure of where this goes next as Peter himself.

“Wow,” Peter exhales with a forced chuckle. “I get the full cam-girl special, huh?”

He’s cringing before he even finishes his sentence. If he’d said that to anyone else he’s pretty sure that’d ensure this is the _last_ video he’s ever sent. Well, anyone other than an actual cam girl, presumably. Peter really wouldn’t know; Wade probably would.

Luckily, Wade is used to Peter’s foot in mouth issues. Even luckier, he seems to actually enjoy it. 

_(“We’re a matched set!”_

_“Yeah, except you say that shit on purpose.”_

_“You just haven’t evolved yet. You’re still the tiny nesting doll inside my own larger, intimidating doll-self, waiting to hatch.”_

_“Are you sure you’re not thinking of like… chickens?”_

_“_ Spidey _, that’s not how chickens work.”)_

Except this time, when Wade chuckles in return, it sounds just as strained. “Yeah, figured it was time to graduate from Playgirl to PornHub. Did you uh, watch already?”

A nervous Deadpool - now there’s something Peter doesn’t get to see often. And it’s real nerves, too. Peter can hear the rattle in his words, the shake and warble of his breath as he tries to control the slow suck of air into his lungs.

“Not yet. Can I?”

“Erm, I recorded it for you, and I sent it to you. So I dunno, can you?” Wade teases, and it eases some of the tension in Peter’s shoulders.

“I just meant-” Peter lets out a frustrated grumble. “I don’t know. It seemed polite to ask.”

“Always so polite, baby,” Wade hums, and Peter takes that as the last bit of permission he needs, until - “Wait, wait.”

Peter pulls his thumb away from hovering above the attachment so quickly he nearly drops his phone. “Uhm.”

“Hold on. Let me - actually, maybe wait until we hang up, huh?"

It’s not often Wade is the one who sounds nervous. Despite Peter’s horny brain shouting ‘o _pen it! open it!'_ , it’s still not louder than the little voice that’s always there, too, saying ‘do unto others’ and all that jazz.

( For the record, Peter’s pretty sure Wade has that voice, too. Just the whole ‘as you’d have others do unto you’ second part doesn’t work as well when you’re, well, Deadpool.)

So he takes mercy on the Merc, and doesn’t push it. He just pushes his horny down long enough to say a rushed goodnight and hang up. He can tell Wade appreciates the enthusiasm, even if he’s worrying about Peter’s reaction.

Peter’s body is buzzing so hard he has trouble opening the video. It takes four tries (including two fumbles so clumsy no one watching would ever suspect Peter of having super powers) before he manages it. His erection had flagged some at Wade’s unpredicted shyness, but the sound of Wade’s wavering breath when he finally hits play sends the blood rushing south again so quickly Peter feels dizzy with it.

“Guh,” he says, outloud to absolutely no one, as the concept of actual words abandons him completely.

He puts the video on loop and watches it two and a half times. The first two are spent trying to get his pants far enough down to free his dick. He only makes it to the six second mark the third time through before he’s making a mess of himself.

It would be rude, he thinks, to not respond and leave Wade in mental purgatory, since Peter’s pretty sure neither of them are going to break their ‘not talking about this in person’ rule. _Especially_ since Peter was the one to break their ‘no texting while we’re both in the city’ rule, and Wade has mostly followed the rules Peter’s inadvertently set to a T.

He snaps a quick shot of his belly, not quite brave enough yet to let anything lower into the frame of the pic. Then he holds his breath and takes another when the first ends up blurry, thanks to his heaving chest as he comes back down to earth. Somehow, it feels dirtier than an actual dick pic.

**PP:** **[image attached]**

**Wade:** _the things u do 2 me baby fuck_

 **Wade:** _u got no idea_

**PP:** _pretty sure I actually do_

**Wade:** _LOL u lil fucker_

 **Wade:** _dont u evr change_

**PP:** _:)_

It's back to status quo, after that, of course, and Peter is _so freaking frustrated_.

They patrol and neither says anything. Wade leaves for fourteen days and sends Peter a picture of what he’s almost positive is Katmandhu, another of some C4 (which Peter does _not_ respond to), and one of Wade’s arm. The arm is no longer attached to Wade.

He responds to that one, but the conversation never veers towards inappropriate, unless you consider bloody limbs not safe for work. Which brings the strange realization that Peter has never had a job like that. 

**Wade:** _i wuz valet at a uber shmancy hotel once_

 **Wade:** _for like a hole month_

 **Wade:** _does that count?_

**PP:** _Were you under cover for a more violent job?_

**Wade:** _tekniclly kinda maybe but then_

 **Wade:** _there wuz this like_

 **Wade:** _suuuuuuuper saxy masrati_

 **Wade:** _*sexy_

 **Wade:** _so i stole it instead_

**PP:** _Wow. Sure, we'll give you that one._

Of course, Wade comes back home, mostly whole. They patrol again and again. They get tacos twice, and chinese once when Peter puts on the whiny voice. Wade leaves again, and they flirt, but there’s no more photos and definitely no more videos.

Peter is going to tear his hair out. 

“Ok, Parker” he tells himself, firmly, the Saturday after Wade comes back from a five day job in San Jose. “Let’s lay out the facts.”

  1. Deadpool, in a complete reversal of his usual M.O., is not going to make the next move
  2. This has gone on Long Enough to be pathetic for many reasons, but most importantly: 
  3. Wade’s text tone has begun eliciting a highly unfortunate Pavlovian response in Peter’s pants, regardless of whether they’re flirting or discussing decorative gourd arranging (Wade's obsession with Martha Stewart has turned out to be strangely educational)
  4. All of this just means it's clear Peter is going to have to make the next move 



Number four is Peter's least favorite part of the list. He doesn’t even know what the next move is. He settles on just starting a totally normal conversation - maybe he can work it in somehow.

**PP:** _do you think anticipation can be a kink? asking for a friend_

**Wade:** _uh is this frend by sum chance_

 **Wade:** _a frendly neihgbrhd super bug?_

**PP:** _yeah in hindisght that was pretty obvious_

**Wade:** _damn ure so adorbs lol_

 **Wade:** _google edging porn baby ;)_

**PP:** _how innocent do you think I am?_

 **PP:** _actually please don’t answer that_

**Wade:** _aw not gonna do it? coulda ben fun_

This seems like as close to an in as Peter's going to get. He decides to go for it.

**PP:** _you remember where I live?_

**Wade:** _will i b in truble if i say yes_

 **Wade:** _cant remember apt # if it makes u fel better_

**Pete:** _9th floor_ _north side alley facing laundromat_

 **Pete:** _if you’re facing building mine's 5th window from left_

 **Pete:** _it’s unlocked_

**Wade:** _ok im a lil confused rn?_

 **Wade:** _wait important q_

 **Wade:** _if ure givin me info abt u now_

 **Wade:** _does that mean im 4givin????_

**PP:** _forgiven for what? Did you do something?_

 **PP:** _OH nm_

 **PP:** _how about I tell you in person_

**Wade:** _i wont see u til tues tho :(_

**PP:** _…_

**Wade:** _o u mean in person now_

 **Wade:** _right?_

 **Wade:** _plz confirm im tryin reel hard not 2 fuck up pete_

**PP:** _yes_

 **PP:** _that was what I was implying_

**Wade:** _holy mother of swiss chz n ham on rye_

 **Wade:** _b there in an hr_

That was way easier than Peter thought it was going to be. Now, to spend the next hour doubting every second that led to this moment.

  
  


_~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~_

_~Wade~_

  
  


Wade probably didn’t need the full hour. Maybe he should have taken a little more time in the shower? He hadn’t meant to be so quick, but when his nerves get frazzled he tends to default to military efficiency. 

_You’re just repeating what that one head doc you killed that one time said._

**Wow, really narrowed it down there…**

Nerves aside, Wade has been a card-carrying member of the Hedonist Party since before Peter Benjamin Parker toddled his first wobbly eight-legged step. (‘ _Not actually a spider!’ chirps an angry little not-spider-bird in Wade’s head -_ if only all his voices could be so sweet _.)_ Thus, now, faced with both his life’s greatest temptation and his life’s greatest fear (said fear being, of course, full rejection by his one true love): _oh yeah, he’s taking the risk._

Worst case, Peter freaks. As long as Wade bails out quick enough, a shot to the head is almost guaranteed to erase the last ten or so minutes. Then, when he wakes up in a dumpster he can assume said worst case occurred and shuffle himself off for a few months until surely things have calmed down (and maybe through therapy, or hypnosis, or whatever voodoo Cape-Man the flying wizard uses, Peter, too, will have hit the erase button).

_Mood swing, much?_

Wade ignores that and lifts his spidey hoodie to his nose for a sniff test. Then he realizes wearing Spidey merch to the Spidey Cave is probably in the top five Spidey No-No's, and he grabs a plain one instead. 

_Too bad._

**Yeah, cuz you knowwww he liked seein’ his brand on you.**

“Spidey ain’t dirty like us,” Wade snipes bitterly as he shoves his feet into his boots and his mask in his pocket; his hood goes up and he’s out the door.

**Let’s pull up that last picture he sent, then say that again with a straight face**

Ok, Spidey’s at least a tiny bit dirty. But Wade’s not gonna push so hard he wrecks his chance right out the gate. 

He is, however, about to look _super_ desperate. It took all of half an hour for Dopinder to get him to the lobby of Pete’s… rustic looking building. He sneaks in behind some blind old lady who can’t be a day under 95 ( _ah, memories_ ) and takes his time walking up nine flights of stairs and counting out the doors to (hopefully) match up to Spidey’s window.

He’s proved correct when a very rumpled Peter opens the door, and, when it dawns on him who’s standing there, turns whatever unpleasant words he was about to spit out into a garbled grunt of surprise.

Wade coughs into his shoulder to try and hide his laugh and schools his face into a neutral smile. “Expecting someone else?” he asks, leaning in to rest an arm on the door jam; Peter lets the door swing open wider as he leans back.

“Uh, no. Nope!” Petey coughs, too, and swallows hard before stepping back properly to let Wade in. “Sorry. I was expecting you at the window.”

“Psshaw, Pete. That’s poor manners for a first date,” Wade explains, just a tad dishonestly; Peter doesn’t need to know Wade was completely unable to slow himself down.

Peter raises an eyebrow at him as he walks the very short distance to flop down on his futon, which is disappointingly couch shaped at the moment. His laptop is open on the table in front of it. “This is how your first dates normally go?”

He doesn’t say anything about Wade’s face, even though there’s more than enough light in the little studio for a full look - the hood's not hiding shit in here except the top of Wade's head. He doesn’t stop himself from looking, either, but just for a moment. Before it’s been long enough to feel awkward, Pete’s eyes dart up to catch Wade’s own. They narrow, then his whole face softens and he doesn’t look disgusted or pitying, just kind of relaxed and dopey like he’d gotten what he was expecting and is glad for it.

_You got all that from a_ glance _?_

**Or are you just seeing what you want**

_That one I’d buy, yep_

And yeah, Wade’s about to agree with Larry and Curly up there, until Peter rolls his eyes and jerks his chin towards the spot next to him.

“Ok, uh,” Pete stutters just a little. “You really can’t be the shy one here, alright? My bravery tapped out after unlocking my window.”

Wade tilts his head and let’s himself relax enough to stop worrying about his own shortcomings. His face lifts into an easy grin as he properly takes in the sweet little sundae seated before him, melting in anticipation. Peter’s all jittery, but he’s almost managing to hide it - makes Wade wonder why he’s had to pick up that particular skill. He’s also wearing a t-shirt that is far too tight. It pulls at his narrow shoulders and there’s a significant few inches of bare midriff between shirt hem and the drawstring of his meshy shorts. 

Spidey’s still a goddamn tease, and Wade’s starting to reevaluate his innocent impression of Pete in his head. Or - _Spidey_ is maybe still just as goody gum drop sweet and lawful as ever, the ultimate Anti-Pool. But this new kid Wade’s been getting to know? He’s beginning to think Pete’s got a few appetites to match Wade’s own. 

“Started stealing from kids, Petey? You’re gonna split those seams.”

Peter huffs out a laugh at the call back, one he clearly didn’t want to let free, and Wade’s feet are suddenly find themselves unglued from the floor. He kicks off his boots and ambles the few scant steps around the table to the free side of the futon. He drops down and takes the opportunity to throw an arm over Pete’s shoulders when the kid leans down to grab the laptop.

When Peter sits back up he doesn’t complain, but Wade can feel how tightly he’s strung when he tries to subtly shift into Wade’s side. He shoves the computer onto Wade’s lap where a search page is already open.

“I figured you could do the honors,” he mumbles.

_Are we still playing chicken?_

**This feels like a trap.**

_We already knew that - I thought we were just gonna fall in anyways._

Trap or not, now that they’re here and Peter’s not running for the hills, Wade’s having some dangerously sappy thoughts. He places the laptop gingerly back on the table - he's pretty sure that's frayed duct tape at the corners and they both cringe when the fans whirr menacingly at being jarred. 

"I think this box is one virus away from exploding, strawberry sweet cheeks," Wade chuckles, and turns enough to get his fingers under the caps of Peter's sleeves - there's just barely enough room - and tugs. Pete goes willingly (if still a little the wrong kind of stiff) and settles awkwardly into Wade's lap. "Maybe we should just make our own instead."

He butts his chin gently against the side of Pete's forehead and feels the tremble that goes through him at the words. 

"Somebody likes that idea, huh?" He teases, before pushing Peter back enough that they can see each other properly. 

Peter's skin is fairer in person, even just half worked up, his flush more pronounced. He blinks lazily at Wade and hums in agreement. Then Pete brings his hands up to grip the sides of Wade's hood. They've stopped shaking.

"Can I?" he asks.

“Go for it, Petey. Rip the band-aid the rest of the way off. Lucky for you, you’re still in the DP 90-day money back guarantee - that is, I can guarantee you’re gonna want your money back.”

Peter purses his lips and exhales what sounds like half a snort. It is, like everything else webs does, beyond adorbs.

_It’s really not_

**You’re just whipped, meathead**

“I know how to shut you up,” Wade hisses before the weight in his lap shifts and, _oh, yeah,_ not alone. “Uh, that wasn’t aimed at you, Pete.”

Peter sighs for real. “I know,” he responds, pushing Wade’s hood back and off his head; Wade has to fight the urge to shrug down and hide as much as possible in the fabric bunching at his neck.

Pete tilts his head to one side, then to the other, eyes never leaving Wade’s face, and Wade deflates under the scrutiny.

“There’s not really a good angle, baby,” he says, softer than he meant; his voice is twisting all funny in the back of his throat.

“Fuck that,” Peter says, heated, sitting up straighter. “Stop doing that.”

Then he kisses Wade, and Wade’s brain shuts off. Peter’s pressing in close and squirming so sinfully Wade doesn’t even notice Pete’s levered himself up so he’s hovering over Wade, pressing him back into the angle of the couch, until-

 _Creak, crack, thump_ and Wade’s on his back, looking up at the ceiling, no longer in Peter’s living room.

“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kans-hus no moah,” he drawls, shifting to sit, leaning back onto his elbows, Spidey still sprawled across his dick. He adds a lilt of Southern Belle at the end, because he knows Spidey’s a sucker for it.

They are now in the middle of Pete’s unfolded, full-size bed. Pete crawls off Wade to sit beside him, his legs pretzled beneath him. It’s what Wade has come to recognize as Spidey’s idea of criss-cross applesauce, but more often than not just looks like he’s guiding a hot yoga class. Wade is constantly peripherally aware of just how flexible the webhead can be, but it still gets Wade in all his dirty thought places when Pete is so casual about it.

He should probably feel a little bad about how often his brain goes there, honestly. But it’s not like every Joe in the city with a copy of the Bugle or internet access hasn’t had the exact same thoughts.

**You’re definitely the only one who has the fantasy with the apple corer, though.**

_A small mercy_

“So this is the bedroom,” Peter jokes. “You’ve seen the living room, the kitchen,” he points at the tiny alcove that houses a strip of laminate counter top and appliances so small and shoddy it’s almost disingenuous to call them appliances at all. “The bathroom-”

“Lavatory,” Wade corrects solemnly when Pete points to the open door next to his closet; Wade has seen economy airplane restrooms more spacious.

“- _lavatory_ , whatever. You’re so weird,” Peter shakes his head; Wade chooses to believe he does so fondly. “And that concludes our tour of the Parker residence. Don’t forget to leave a review on our Yelp page for a half-off coupon on your next visit.”

This? _This_ Wade can work with. They’ve been slow to ease into that same familiarity with each other that comes so easy in costume or over text. 

All the different versions of Peter, the one’s in Wade’s mind, are, finally, gradually melding into one unified Spidey-Pete before his eyes, and Wade’s honest enough with himself to admit it’s been a discomfiting process. He already had two extra voices up there to start with, and he’s been trying so hard to be good and respect Spidey’s implied ‘out of area code’ rules that Wade’s felt even crazier than usual these past months.

But the man in front of Wade - _whose knees are folded all tight and neat beneath him despite his shirt being crooked and hair mussed; whose eyes are sharp and calculating, but whose smile is dopey sweet and relaxed; whose nose wrinkles at the bridge in embarrassment when he laughs at his own bad jokes_ -

It’s Peter Parker’s face, and it’s Spider-Man’s little mannerisms, and it finally, properly dawns on Wade: Peter Parker is Spider-man. And Spider-Man is, and has this whole time _been_ , Peter Parker. Spidey’s always joked about being no one outside of the mask, but he’s been wrong this whole time, too, because he’s still the same dorky, brilliant, shining beacon of good and clean.

And it would seem, against all the odds, he’s going to give _Deadpool_ the chance to get him dirty. 

_A thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters in a thousand multi-verses wouldn’t have called that one._

**Did you seriously not realize they were the same person? That’s crazy even for us.**

“Of course I fucking _knew_ it. It just didn’t _feel_ like it. Have you no sense of nuance? Poetry?”

Peter is instantly suspicious. “What are they saying about me?” It’s sharp, and ruins his sweet grin, but suspicion has always been sexy on Spidey. He’s just so fun to fuck with.

_That’s the idea!_

**Yeah, so what’s the issue here? Or did we actually come here to stand in the corner and masturbate?**

_We told the judge we’d stop doing that without permission._

Spidey’s super hearing is, at times, actually sort of inconvenient. “Never anything important, baby,” he rushes to assure Petey; fun to fuck with, yes, but not when it might ruin the chance at actual fucking. “Just came to a realization, is all. You’re _Spider-Man._ ” 

“Oh, lord,” Peter groans, falling back to recline on the mattress next to Wade. There’s not much room and it pushes them together at the shoulder. “That was literally the first thing you ever knew about me. Can we please not go back to the awkward pedestal phase?”

“What, didn’t like it when I worshipped the walls your sticky lil’ toesies scurried across?" He catches Pete’s gaze and holds it steady until he can see Pete’s breathing pick back up, straining the already tight pull of the shirt across his chest. _There we go._ "Hate to be the bearer of bad news, teddy bear, but I never stopped. I just started hiding it better.”

He slides his phone from his pocket and wiggles it back and forth in the air.

“SO,” he proclaims, rising up fully and clapping his hands together gleefully; he slides to the end of the bed and down to his knees on the floor, turning so he’s facing the bed. Peter looks good at this angle. “Boujee little hipster photog like yourself, betting there’s a tripod around here somewhere, right?”

“A tripod?” Pete asks, like he’s never heard the word before. “For what- oh,” Wade watches as the pieces fall into place, and Pete’s voice wavers. “ _Oh._ ”

If Wade could spam just one gif to every chat he’s ever in for the rest of his life, it would be from a clip of _that_. 

It takes Peter a few seconds to catch on, but the subsequent emotions play out one by one over his face, like frames from a dirty comic book: understanding, first, then wide eyed surprise ( _terror?_ ). Wade’s about to let Pete off the hook. He’d truly been joking, in that he had never even considered Peter would agree. But then, Pete sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, and Wade watches the dawning arousal as his eyelids droop and the flush makes a welcome return.

 _Oh, he_ likes _that idea._

Still, Petey’s but a spring-fresh cub. He may not be completely inexperienced, but he’s young enough that fantasy and reality don’t always mix so well - Wade would most certainly know. 

“I’m just yankin’ your wallet chain, Pete Wentz. Plenty of time to rifle through the kinky toy box down the road.”

Peter shakes his head. He’s biting at the inside of his cheek and his hands are fidgety in his lap. His gaze loses some of its softness. “It’s not that. I’m uh, not saying no. It’s just- my face, you know? I know you wouldn’t - _you_ wouldn’t. But shit still leaks.”

Wade so wishes he were a better person. It’s not hard to see what that fear stems from, not from his generation, and certainly not from someone with Tony Stark as a mentor. He should probably insist it’s healthy to have boundaries.

If there’s one thing Wade hates, though, it sure is a hypocrite.

He reaches into his pocket. “Could always cover up,” he suggests, voice dark and low, pulling out his mask and letting it dangle off the tips of his fingers for Peter to see. 

Peter looks at him like he pulled out a tutu and started doing the macarena. It's hardly a sexy look, except for it's on Pete's face so yeah, it still kind of does it for Wade. It's also a very familiar look.

"You want to do it in costume?" Peter's nose scrunches up in confusion. "We like, just got to the taking them off part."

He sounds disappointed, and Wade fucking loves it. " _Gawd,_ you're a sweetpea. Pretty sure the only thing that would freak you out more than accidental identity outing would be a Spidey Sex Tape Scandal. Nah, baby boy, I'd never do that to you."

“Now, that guy Deadpool?" Wade tosses his mask at Pete's lap and watches as lithe fingers instantly go to fiddle with the leather stitching. "I hear that guy's a total freak. No one would think twice if _his_ sex tape leaked."

**They'd probably actively avoid it.**

"They'd probably actively avoid it," he adds, to Peter.

"You want _me_ to wear your mask?" 

Was that intrigue? Wade's pretty sure that's intrigue. He's beginning to think Spidey's mask is less for identity reasons, and more for _he has absolutely zero poker face_ reasons

**You'd think a restraining order was intrigue.**

_Irrelevant. If Spidey doesn't like someone's attention, he punches them in the face._

_He's punched you in the face plenty. You liked it._

"In the closet," Pete says, unexpectedly, and for a moment Wade thinks he must have lost track of the conversation. "On the shelf. My tripod, I mean."

Wade doesn't hesitate. He's to his feet in an instant and rifling through Peter’s mess of belongings. When he pulls out the tripod it already has a phone holder on it, and Wade grins.

"Spidey, you devil," he breathes, looking around for a good place to set up. He stands it up on the tiny box of a coffee table and moves the table to the middle of the room. "You've done this before, haven't you?"

"It was for a project!" Pete yelps.

"You made a sex vid for a project? Do they give grades on OnlyFans now?" 

"You know what I mean," Pete groans. "And if you want to do this…"

Wade finishes setting up the tripod and snatches his phone out of the air when Peter tosses it at him. 

"Shutting up now!" Wade supplies cheerily; he's not an idiot.

It takes a few more minutes of frustrated struggle trying to get the phone to fit in the stupid holder. Peter finally takes pity and slides to the floor next to Wade. He twists a little handle Wade hadn’t noticed ( _why are there so many? it’s a tripod. A_ mini _tripod, jeez_ ) and secures the phone.

Wade unlocks it and flips to the camera. He stops there, though, and looks back to Peter.

“Guess I’m in charge, huh?” Peter says with a warbly chuckle.

There are so many responses to that. It almost hurts to hold them back. But Wade thinks they’ve both had enough waiting, and they’re edging dangerously close to avoidance. Wade is very done with avoidance. He sits placidly instead, patiently watching when Pete’s shaking hand swipes the controls to video.

Wade’s mask is still clutched in one hand. Peter hadn’t even put it down to get the phone set up. He grips it now, tight, the leather squeaking in his fist. Then he very deliberately makes eye contact as he raises the mask up, holds it as he slips it over his head, until Wade can’t see his eyes anymore. He leaves his mouth and nose uncovered.

It’s a little loose, so Wade reaches around the back of Peter’s head and cinches it so it won’t slip off mid-fumble. He leaves his hand back there once he’s satisfied, settling his palm over the back of Pete’s neck and giving it a squeeze.

He’s trying for reassuring, here, but Pete shivers and groans. His skin is hot and a little damp beneath Wade’s hand, and it’s been _so long_ since someone _wanted_ Wade to touch them like this, it makes him shiver a little, too.

“You good, baby?” he asks.

In response, Peter hits the record button. 

  
  
  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_~Peter~_

  
  


Peter is good. He is _definitely_ good. Sure, the night has gone completely off the rails, but that tends to be how time spent with Deadpool goes. He’s also so, so fucked if this goes badly. If the mask slips; if there’s something, somewhere in frame that Peter hasn’t noticed, that will link him to Spidey -

 _Wade would have noticed._ And if there is, by some chance, something they both missed, one of them will catch it and the video will be deleted. Despite Deadpool’s penchant for mayhem, Peter’s still sure Wade won’t let him accidentally out himself. Well, to anyone other than Wade, at least. The knowledge helps calm him as he’s ushered back onto the bed before Wade slips off to check the video.

Wade glances at the little screen a few times, then back to Peter.

“Come back over to the edge real quick, honey bear,” Wade hums, and Peter shuffles over on his knees. 

Wade meets him there and slips his hands under the hem of Peter’s shirt. “Let me help you,” he says, bending to whisper the words against Peter’s neck, too low for the camera to pick up. “This little scrap of a shirt’s tighter than your spandex. You’ll pull my mask right off with it.”

Peter nods his agreement and Wade presses a damp, open mouthed kiss where his lips had landed. Wade gets the shirt off with far more grace than Peter would have managed himself, and he re-adjusts the leather when Peter’s free. Then he pushes on Peter’s chest until he’s laying back down and crowding into Peter’s space. 

Seeing as Peter really has no idea how they got to this point ( _from an accidental phone call of all things - how long ago even_ was _that?_ ), it’s probably unsurprising that he has just as little understanding of where they’re heading now. Not in an anatomy sort of way, of course - he knows what goes where, and not just theoretically, no matter how often Wade jokes about it. 

So then _why,_ he has to wonder manically, strung so fucking tight it hurts, _why_ does Wade always make him feel so damn inexperienced? He’s a fully grown adult super hero, for fucks sake, and Wade’s all up in here making Peter feel like a naive virgin. 

He hates how much he kind of likes it. Still, he’d like to get to the orgasm part at some point tonight.

“I’m not gonna break,” he points out as Wade leans a little farther in and cups Peter’s cheeks like he’s made of porcelain, tracing the line where leather meets skin; he has to fight not to push into the touch and completely undermine his words.

“Nah, I know that Petey,” Wade agrees easily. “Me, though?”

“You’re not gonna break, either,” Peter promises, rising up to press their mouths together again.

Maybe Wade actually believes Peter, or maybe he was just waiting for the universe to align and it’s just coincidence. Either way, Wade seems to find whatever sign he was waiting for, because Peter suddenly finds himself barely able to form any new thoughts at all.

Wade is over him in an instant, covering him, shielding him from the view of the phone camera as he slides the slick little shorts down Peter’s thighs and tosses them over his shoulder. There’s just enough neurons still firing for Peter to remember their ultimate goal, and he stutters out a breathy “C-camera, Wade. Can’t see,” as Wade’s wide hands push and pull Peter’s pliant body exactly how he wants it.

Wade glances over his shoulder, distracted. All anyone who started watching right now would see would be Wade. His broad back, his thick thighs, regrettably still clothed - if they’d missed the beginning they might not even know Peter is there. At the thought, Peter’s cock twitches, the cotton of Wade’s sweatshirt chafing against the sensitive head on one side, slicking up his own abs with precome on the other.

Wade is so huge he could do _anything_ to Peter right now, and Peter would be completely hidden. As hot as it’s getting him, it hardly seems fair. It’s certainly not winning Peter any points in gay dick pic chicken.

Wade’s thoughts must be along the same line, because he maneuvers them so his back is against the wall at the head of the bed, pulling Peter around and into his lap so he’s between Wade and the camera, Peter’s back to Wade’s chest. Wade twines their legs together and stretches Peter’s lower half out, spreading his thighs to let Peter’s dick stand tall and unobstructed from view.

 _Speaking of fair,_ Peter thinks, a little bitterly as he wriggles back uselessly. Wade’s hoodie bunches up just under Peter’s shoulder blades, a tease of real skin-on-skin contact, and Peter is disappointingly aware of just how covered Wade still is.

“ _Wade._ No fair,” he points out on a whine that turns into a grunt as Wade slides a hand down Peter’s stomach to wrap around his cock.

Wade bites Peter’s neck and laughs. It’s the same kind of laugh as when Wade’s letting someone think they’re winning - the evil sort of laugh that comes out when he plays with whatever criminal-mouse he’s caught in his trap. He shifts his hips up so Peter can feel the press of his covered cock against Peter’s bare back side. Peter wiggles and Wade groans.

“I never play fair,” Wade points out, which - yeah; Peter’s not sure what he was expecting. “Plus, this ain’t gonna last long enough for a good show on my end.”

Peter knows it’s meant to be self-deprecating, but all it does is turn him on even more. Still fully dressed and already ready to shoot, just because Peter’s naked and on top of him? Peter goes a little crazy after that, too wild to care about how desperate he must look.

He bats Wade’s hand away from his dick, too close to the edge himself, and reaches back to fumble beneath his own body for the button of Wade’s jeans. 

“Don’t care,” Peter grunts, fingers slipping, the angle all wrong. 

Wade takes pity on him and reaches down to help, slipping the button free and the zipper down. Peter pushes his shoulders back into Wade’s chest so he can lift his hips and give Wade some room as he slides the jeans to mid-thigh to let his cock spring free.

When Peter settles back down, it’s to the feel of Wade’s hard length nestling between Peter’s cheeks and they both moan.

“Wow wow _wow_ ,” Wade breathes from behind him, one arm locking around Peter’s waist to pull him in tight, his free hand returning to its place around Peter’s dick, squeezing. “Nah, we ain’t dead,” he mutters to himself. “No way _we_ ended up in heaven.”

Then he rocks his hips up, pushing into the pillowy give of Peter’s ass, rutting against Peter’s crack so Peter can feel the underside of his cock sliding through the valley of Peter’s body. It shoves Peter’s cock through the channel of his stationary fist, and Peter cries out as the grip tightens.

“That’s it, baby,” Wade murmurs. “Just like that. Let daddy do the work. You just stay right there all nice and spread for the camera and let it feel good, k?”

Peter groans, only partially in pleasure. “Not, unf-” he huffs. “Not calling you _daddy_ on camera. Jesus, Wade.”

Wade grins where he’s buried his face in the crook of Peter’s neck and rocks up harder.

Neither of them last long after that. Wade hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he was close. And with the filth he keeps whispering in Peter’s ear? He’s bringing Peter right along with him, grinding Peter back onto his cock, shoving Peter forward, until Peter realizes he’s the one doing the work now that Wade’s set the pace.

He rides Wade’s lap, panting, eyes glued to the little glint of black that is the camera on the back of Wade’s phone. He’s right on the edge when he feels Wade’s muscles go taut behind him - the arm around him squeezing hard. Wade lets out a groan so guttural it barely sounds human, and then he’s coming, wet and thick and spreading against the small of Peter’s back, the tickle as it drips down the crack of Peter’s ass, slicking the way for those final few thrusts.

Peter is gone, too, at that. He spills over Wade’s fist and his own stomach, his head dropping back to land against Wade’s shoulder as his chest tries to heave. Wade has him held so tight he can barely draw breath.

Peter slides off and to the side, sprawling across the mattress and over the edge, rolling to his stomach to bury his face against Wade’s side so he can tug the mask off without worry. It feels too restrictive to have anything on his face now. He shoves it blindly under a pillow for safe keeping.

“Oh, God,” he says, voice muffled by the sweatshirt and his duvet. “Turn off the camera.”

For once, Wade does as he’s told without comment or complaint. He’s back in bed with Peter in a flash, phone in hand, and Peter picks his head up enough to watch. Wade tilts the screen so they can both see as he settles.

Then, he flips to the folder where the video is stored, and deletes it.

“What?” Peter asks, confused and, despite his enthusiastic agreement, strangely relieved.

Wade shrugs as he prods at Peter until Peter is under the blanket, ready to pass out and sleep for days after that orgasm. Once Peter is settled, he shimmies the rest of the way out of his pants and his hoodie until he’s as naked as Peter.

He slips under the blanket and pulls Peter in close, chest to chest. Peter’s just happy he’s finally getting his skin contact, and burrows in gladly.

“It was brought to my attention that things might have been less than fair,” Wade reminds him. “Was gonna delete it either way, though. This first time was just for me ‘n you, baby boy.”

Peter wisely keeps just how sweet he finds that to himself as they drift off in comfortable, very un-Deadpool-like silence. He kind of really likes this Wade, even if he secretly loves some of Wade’s more strange tangents.

Still, there’s one thing he really needs to make clear before he falls asleep and forgets.

“I was serious, Wade. I’m _not_ calling you daddy,” he pokes Wade hard in the ribs to make sure he’s listening.

Wade squeezes him a little tighter. “Sure, sugar babes, I remember. No calling me daddy _on camera._ ”

Peter’s not sure he’s going to win this fight. He just hopes it turns out as well as the last one.


End file.
